


in death, i am alive

by lonniek



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Breathplay, Comeplay, Dom Theo, Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sub Scott McCall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 20:35:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6093294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonniek/pseuds/lonniek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott doesn’t know how he’s managed to avoid admitting to himself the truth of his feelings this long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in death, i am alive

Scott doesn’t know how he’s managed to avoid admitting to himself the truth of his feelings this long. It takes a month, thirty one twenty-four hour days, for the knot in Scott’s chest to dissolve into an understanding, a need, an ache. It’s deeper than the ache in his chest from the wound left by Theo’s claws.

Theo’s claws. Scott remembers the weight of Theo’s body against his that night, how close he was, the charge of the energy in the air around them. There was hatred, sure, jealousy, maybe, but underneath that the current of something wild pulsed between them. When Scott closes his eyes at night, he feels the crushing weight of Theo’s palm across his chest, pressing down onto him, _into_ him. In all of the years that Scott’s been experimenting with his sexuality, he’s never been _penetrated_ like that before. The fact that Scott can’t get the feeling of Theo’s claws piercing his skin, the searing sting of an alpha’s wound, out of his head like him sick. But it’s the first time he’s felt something other than the expanding, all-consuming numbness that threatens to overtake him, and Scott doesn’t want to let that go away.

Since becoming an alpha, Scott’s been too busy cobbling together his patchwork pack to worry about his own feelings. There’s too much else going on, too many people depending on him and leaning on him and begging him for support for Scott to sit down and be tired, or to lay in bed with his head in his mother’s lap and take a moment to grieve. There’s school and there’s villains and there’s friends and there’s _Stiles_ (and Scott’s not even sure Stiles would call them friends right now), and Scott’s emotions are spread too thin by the time he gets to the end of the list to have any left over for himself. So he starts to go numb. It’s little things at first: forgetting to smile when he hears Allison’s name mentioned, not bothering to flinch when Stiles yells at him again. And then he’s too tired for Kira, for her coy smiles and swaying hips. All he has the energy for is a tired smile and a huff and a half shrug.

But when Theo is killing him, pressed up against him and driving his claws inside of him and in control and stealing away the last of his breath, Scott feels _alive_. The rush of adrenaline that surges through his body while his lungs suck in ragged, bloody breaths leaves him blissed out, almost peaceful when the light leaves his eyes. Scott’s last conscious thought while he feels the last tendrils of life bleed from him is that he wishes he could thank Theo for bringing him peace.

And then Scott’s awake again, gasping and heaving into his mother’s arms, and the peace Scott knew dies as he breathes. With every fresh breath he takes, the circulation of blood pumps numbness back into his veins, and Scott starts to wish that he hadn’t woken up. It’s the only thing Scott can hold onto as a constant feeling, the quiet desire for death, the only thing that he feels other than guilt and emptiness.

That and the sting of the pain in his chest. It keeps him company from the moment he wakes to the moment he sleeps, haunts him in his dreams. For a month, Scott wades through all of the responsibility heaped on him: save Lydia, help Stiles, protect Liam, fix it, _fixitfixitfixit_ . He pushes aside the tingling in his heart that’s barely beating, tries to ignore the fact that the thought of himself impaled on Theo’s claws is the only memory that makes him feel something. And it works until it doesn’t, until he can’t reconcile the fact that he needs to have that again, needs to be vulnerable and raw and splayed out and made to _feel things_ with the fact that Theo didn’t just _try_ to kill him, but actually _did it_ . But Scott wakes up one night from a nightmare, drenched in sweat and tears and shoving a scream back down his throat, and knows that he needs _Theo_.

When Scott finds him, it’s six o'clock in the morning, and Theo is pulling a motorcycle into a garage. He smells like dirt and oil and sweat and refreshment. He smells the same way that he did a month ago, sharp and determined and _strong_. Scott watches Theo pull off his helmet, sees the change in posture the second that he recognizes that Scott’s there. He tenses, ready to fight, ready on instinct to turn around and carve Scott’s heart out of his chest, but Scott pushes his hands into his pocket and takes another step onto Theo’s property. Scott hears Theo curl his hands into fists, hears the slick crushing and slight squeak of expensive Italian leather from his riding gloves as his knuckles round over.

Theo’s heartbeat is steady in contrast to the way his is pounding against his chest, and Scott feels the spaces where his flesh is still knitting together in his chest fluttering against each other, almost painful, but not quite. The craving he has for this, to be close to Theo again, to be at peace again, must show on his face, because Theo stops in front of him, one brow turned up and a smirk tugging at the corner of his jaw, where the rough edges of a beard have started to set in.

“Scott,” Theo says with an authority that trips up the heartbeat Scott’s only just managed to even out again. Theo stands with his shoulders back, chest expanded to take up the space that Scott caving in on himself saves. Scott shakes his head and tries to find the words to describe what he’s doing there, disheveled and half in pajamas, but he doesn’t know what he’s doing there either.

Scott opens his mouth to try and explain what he feels, the way that it felt when Theo touched him, the way that the weight of his responsibilities drained away in Theo’s arms. He doesn’t care that his peace came at the expense of his own life, doesn’t care that he’s running back into the arms of the person who probably wants him dead most. All he knows is that standing here, watching Theo watch him, draws him out of the abyss of his mental fog and into the world of the living again. And he wants that back.

“Help.”

Theo makes a sound between a scoff and a hum and presses into Scott’s space with his chest. Scott takes a step back, but Theo keeps encroaching, so he takes another and another, stumbling backward and struggling to pull his hands out of his pockets. In between one step and the next, Scott stops staring at the ground and catches Theo’s eyes. They’re bright, intense, _predatory_ . But instead of feeling his hackles rise with the need to fight, to assert his dominance as alpha, Scott feels _hunted_ , and he _likes_ it. Scott knows his eyes reflect that when Theo’s hand grips him by the neck and slams him against the wall of the garage. The wall against his back knocks the wind out of him, but Theo’s hand around his neck makes him gasp. The lack of air charges Scott’s need to fight for a moment. His fangs drop and his hand, claws out, reach up to clamp Theo’s wrist.

“Relax,” Theo instructs, tilting his hand upward and further into Scott’s neck. Theo’s leather riding gloves are as smooth as Theo’s grip is ironclad, and the scent of sweat and Theo’s arousal and the leather right under his nose have the desired effect: Scott’s whole body goes limp, and he makes a soft whimper of a sound as he gives up on holding the last of his breath, gives into the sensation that thrums under his skin when he does. Scott’s world brightens as Theo’s fingers hold him in place, pressed up on his toes and canting his hips in Theo’s direction. He can smell the different notes in the air around him, see the vivid differences in every minute change of color of Theo’s eyes. _Oh_ . He’s _alive_.

Tears spring to Scott’s eyes as his body recognizes the sensation of being present, and Theo loosens his grip on Scott’s neck. Scott gasps and clears his throat as his airflow comes back, the heavy breaths turning to laughter. Theo allows himself a private smile before tilting his head into Scott’s neck and inhaling.

“You know I can smell it, right?” Theo asks, his voice low and rumbling in Scott’s ear. “I can smell the way that you want to submit to me, how you’re fighting every instinct in you right now to bare your neck to me.” Theo’s closer, now, even though Scott can’t see him. He feels Theo’s body pressed against his own, Theo’s chest steady and heavy and expansive pressed up against his own. Scott can’t find the words to disagree, so he says nothing, drops his head as far to the side as Theo’s hand will allow. “That’s it, there’s a good boy,” Theo coos, lips brushing against Scott’s earlobe.

“Poor little alpha, overburdened with responsibility. What’s it like, walking around with all that guilt in your chest? All that pain you keep buried in your chest. Nobody understands the pain of being an alpa, do they, Scott?” Theo’s grip tightens again, and Scott groans as his jaw drops open. “Nobody knows that all they do is hurt you, do they? But not this way, not the right way. How does it feel to know that I’m the only one who can make you feel like this?” Theo’s grip loosens and Scott blinks rapidly, sucking air back into his lungs.

“I don’t know,” Scott whispers, voice shaking. He’d never thought about it this way, that there was a right way to be hurt at all. Theo chuckles.

“No, of course you don’t.” Scott feels Theo’s hand push his shirt out of the way so that he can yank open Scott’s fly and get a hand on his dick. The glove is different than the spit-slicked hand that Scott’s uses to using to jerk off, tighter and sticky and almost awkward, like Scott getting off is an afterthought. Theo jerks Scott off with deliberate motions, watches the way that Scott’s lip curls upward when he rubs his thumb in the groove under the head of his cock. “There’s no way you would know this is what you needed. But I know what you need. And you know how I know?” Scott wiggles his head no as much as he can, whimpers and pushes his foot against the wall, trying to give himself leverage into Theo’s fist.

“I know,” Theo says, opening his palm and denying Scott his pleasure, “because _I’m_ in control here.” And when he says it, Scott feels all of the responsibility of being an alpha drain from his body. When someone else tells him that he doesn’t have to make the decisions, that he doesn’t have control, Scott feels lighter, like maybe the weight of the world doesn’t have to rest on his shoulders. He sucks in a deep breath against Theo’s hand and shudders, hips stuttering to try and get Theo’s hand back on his cock. But Theo lifts his eyebrow at him and backhands Scott across the face. His cheek glows with the sting of hot leather, but the burn on his cheeks with shame is hotter.

“I know. You don’t want to disappoint me. You’ve disappointed so many people in your life already, haven’t you?” Theo asks, pressing his lips to Scott’s mouth while he talks, never still enough for a kiss. It doesn’t stop Scott from trying, though he catches more of the prickle of beard burn than Theo’s lips. “People used to worship the ground you walked on. A _true alpha_. But you’re no better than the rest of us, huh?” Theo asks, trailing his hand down Scott’s neck to join the other. His grip tightens, and Scott feels the surge of anticipation flood his chest. “All you want is for someone to realize you’re trying your best, that sometimes your best isn’t good enough. You just want to be a good boy, huh, Scott? Isn’t that what you are?”

Theo’s hands around his neck are firing neurons to parts of Scott’s brain that he thought were dead and gone. He’s awash with pleasure for the first time in what feels like years, an all-consuming fire of feeling from the roots of his scalp to the trembling tips of his toes. Scott’s glad that Theo’s grip on his neck against the wall is so strong with how little he trusts his knees to support him. Scott sees something quiver out of the corner of his eye and blinks back into focus, away from the woozy, blissful lightheadedness that cocoons him like the hazy early morning sunlight.

The muscle in Theo’s left arm flexes again, and the vein that shivered before twitches again, thick and powerful. Inadvertently, Scott’s tongue darts out of his mouth with the desire to put his mouth on the vein, to taste the raw power underneath it. He knows without a doubt that Theo could crush him like this, that it would be simple. He’s inches from it now, with Scott watching the first bright pops and flashes of white behind his eyelids go off. But in the twitching of the vein, between the sweet burn of the lack of oxygen in his chest and the force of Theo’s hands so tight Scott’s toes hardly brush against the floor, Scott sees that Theo is controlling himself. That he’s in control of not just Scott, but of the situation, of himself. Scott’s wolf understands the implications, knows that it’s more than just being in control. Right here, right now, tucked behind some dusty boxes and a tool bench, Theo is Scott’s alpha.

Scott’s eyes roll back in his head and he opens his mouth to mimic the act of sucking air, Theo’s fingers curled around his throat while he comes.

Theo’s left hand leaves Scott’s neck, and the cool morning air against it makes Scott gasp in shock, a harsh and instant return to the brink of reality. The elation of the release of orgasm threatens to leave him in the same flood that it came, but Theo keeps him steady with his right hand, and Scott takes a quivering breath and opens his eyes.

He hears the scrape of the leather against the rough stubble of Theo’s jaw, and when he sees the trail of his come dripping off Theo’s cheek and down his chin, Scott blushes. The leather of the glove darkens as it gets wet and for a moment Scott thinks he’s going to be in trouble, but Theo pushes his thumb between Scott’s spit-slicked lips.

“Swallow,” Theo instructs him, and Scott opens his mouth to suck the gloved digit into his mouth. The leather is as soft against his tongue as it is against his neck, and it tastes smoky and warm like it smells. It’s spicy, too, like Theo is, and the tangy taste of his own come has Scott salivating around Theo’s thumb, making obscene wet noises while he attempts to clean any trace of his come off of Theo’s glove. Theo hums his quiet approval and adjusts his grip on Scott’s neck with his right hand, flexing his fingers across his Adam’s apple. Scott winces as he feels the beginnings of bruises on his neck, then sighs into the pleasure-pain of the pressure against them. He wishes, fleeting and in vain, for them to stay, and draws Theo’s thumb deeper into his mouth. Theo presses down on Scott’s tongue, waits for the spit to build up while his cheeks hollow out around Theo’s finger, and tightens his grip around Scott’s throat as he starts to swallow. Scott makes a garbled choking sound around Theo’s thumb and sucks in a shocked, wheezing breath.

“Swallow,” Theo says again, slow and heavy like he means it. He watches Scott’s throat work, muscles jumping under his hand while he swallows his own come. Scott pants and gasps his way through his task, but he does it, and Theo releases Scott’s neck and lets him stumble into his arms, clinging to the sleeves of Theo’s shirt for support. “Good boy.”

_Good boy_ , Scott thinks, closing his eyes and inhaling deep the familiar, steady one-two one-two of Theo’s heartbeat, and feels something that he doesn’t think he’s felt in too long: hope.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr [thisaway](http://demigirlisaaclahey.tumblr.com)


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